


Gallons Of The Stuff

by gala_apples



Series: There Are No Extra Pieces [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Poly, Blood, F/F, Near Future, redcaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redcaps are dicks, Malia thinks. Maybe she'll teach herself Latin just to write that fact into the Beastiary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gallons Of The Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the My Chemical Romance hidden track, because I've been out of bandom two years now, and I still start singing that song the second someone says the word 'blood'.
> 
> Written for day five of TWFemslash, for the prompt 'future'. It didn't fit anywhere naturally in the fic, but this is set in senior year.

These days Malia does more than her fair share of interrogating. This has to do with a few solid, immutable facts. 

One: they haven’t yet figured out how to chop down the nemeton tree without facing a magical backlash that would nuke at least California, maybe half the lower south west. Because of that inability of the researchers in the group to get their shit together, Beacon Hills is still a beacon.

Two: the McCall Pack is fundamentally unable to stop fuckin’ saving everyone’s fuckin’ life. From Stiles totally martyring himself to save hers, to Allison instigating the beginning of their relationship for Stiles’ sake, to Scott battling a berserker in a cave for Derek, the McCall pack dives in to rescue. Even in the cases of the innocent civilians, like Scott having to bite Liam. Maybe especially then. Those that don’t know shit about what’s really going on can’t protect themselves from it, after all.

Three: at this point PTSD is basically universal. Or at least something akin to it. They might not be total basket cases needing to be locked up from whence Malia came, but there’s not a one of them that doesn’t flip out at a trigger of theirs. In different ways, of course, they’re all special snowflakes. Stiles’ screaming and jackknifing his limbs before trying to flee isn’t Allison’s dead eyed stare and silent tears or Isaac’s curling into a ball and whispering to himself. But bottom line, they’re all fucked. 

Actually, that could be their bottom line in general. The McCall Pack motto. ‘Welcome! We’re all fucked!’ 

And it’s as accurate as ever, because the redcap they’ve got secured to a chair is unlikely to be in a talking mood. Well, some of the twenty or so redcaps are sharing their thoughts, but it’s the one Liam managed to tie up that they’re seventy percent sure has the answers. He got the leader, as much as redcap swarms have leaders. It’s up to Malia to ask the questions. 

As always, Malia doesn’t know everything she needs to ask. Lydia gave her a list. Malia left it in the car. Next time she’ll write it on her hand. Assuming she makes it out alive, of course. That’s never a sure bet. Malia’s feeling as safe as she can, though. Allison, Liam, and Kira are acting as her honor guard, dispatching the swarm behind her with sword and crossbow and claws. Problem being redcaps can use any blood to increase their strength, including their own race, so most are only dipping their caps in the slain and fighting again.

In a perfect world it would be Lydia doing the interrogation. In this world Lydia’s at home. Or maybe looking through steadily more dubious articles with Stiles. Or maybe she’s on patrol with Scott and Isaac trying sense what houses the redcaps are sneaking into and stealing blood from. Lydia can’t be here though. Interrogations give her panic attacks. Yes, they eventually figured out last year that Orderly Javes killed Meredith for the Benefactor and Brunski helped cover it up because he’s a piece of shit. But for weeks Lydia thought her pressing Meredith too hard made her hang herself. That belief left damage that no amount of later knowledge can paper over.

The most important part of being an interrogator is persistence. Every time the restrained redcap laughs at her Malia punches it in the face and asks a follow up question. Possibly not the exact way Lydia phrased them for her, but Malia knows the general outline of most. She doesn’t stop until there’s a hand on her back. 

She whirls around, claws out. Chances are if it was a redcap coming up on her she wouldn’t know until the pike was already through her back, but better to be safe than injured. Just because it wouldn’t kill her doesn’t mean she wants it to happen. 

It’s not a redcap. In fact, there aren’t any left. In the time Malia’s spent with her back to the room, Allison, Liam, and Kira have taken out every redcap. The floor of the warehouse is covered in corpses and thick pools of innards. Her Pack members are all drenched in blood, like Carrie at the prom drenched, but it’s the price you pay for getting the job done.

Malia, on the other hand, has failed. She doesn’t know if the nemeton drew the redcaps. It’s entirely plausible, see Fact One for details, but there’s also the possibility that one of the Pack’s enemies sent them. She doesn’t know how many more there are of this swarm. The lore of up to one hundred per swarm is unsettling, and it would be nice to have an exact number. She doesn’t know why they decided on a strategy of sneaking into homes at night and cutting and lightly bleeding people rather than killing them outright. Frustrating, because since no one’s in danger of dying Lydia can’t seek them out, and because since a lot of teenagers have been bled they keep getting self harm lectures at school. And she hasn’t been able to test the ‘steal the hat and they get weak’ idea, just in case the redcap leader passes out instantly and it’s the only one with certain information.

“I’ve got nothing guys.”

“And you won’t! Now untie my hands so I can squeeze you until you pop!” The redcap licks its lips, smiling as it tastes the trickle of blood Malia’s blows have caused. The lore had rumors of autocannibalism in extreme cases but Lydia had figured bullshit. _Not_ bullshit.

Kira steps forward and chops it’s head off with the long swing of her katana, spraying them all with blood in the process. Malia is pretty sure it’s her Pack’s tenth coating. They all look more sticky red-brown than tan. It’s tough to say if Kira did it out of resignation that they’re getting no answers, or if she did it because it threatened her girlfriend. Either way Malia appreciates the gesture.

Liam looks around the gory warehouse before kicking one of the nearest fallen bodies, all the while attempting to scrape blood from under his fingernails. It’s weird, how his werewolf claws did all the damage, but his human fingers are just as dirty. Malia would ask Scott about it, but there’s no way he knows the answer. She’d ask Derek about it, but Derek would get all uppity about the hierarchy and please direct your comments to the Alpha, except about fifteen times less polite. If she still cares in a few days she’ll just ask Stiles.

“Are we done here, now? Then sooner I bike home the lower the chances I walk in on my mom’s middle of the night pee break.”

Allison waves her hand. “You can go. We’re done for the night.”

Liam leaves on her word. Malia’s positive he’ll text Scott to make sure, but at least he listens to them now. Better than the first weeks of his acquaintance, like how much of a shit he acted at the Martin’s now sold cottage.

“Real question is where are going.”

Allison’s got a point. They could just go to their separate homes and shower and sleep for the scant hours they can before school tomorrow. Tomorrow’s today already, actually, Malia’s pretty sure. It would probably be the smart thing to do. But Malia’s not feeling smart. She feels like a McCall soldier, with the uniform of leather and bloodstains to match, and there’s only one way the vast majority of his pack decompresses and compartmentalises after a skirmish.

“Your dad home?” Kira asks.

“Yeah. Yours?”

“Yeah.”

Malia shrugs. “Derek’s Derek.” What more can she say? He’s not her dad, biological or sociological. He’s not even her pack leader, his reign ended before she was forced back into humanity. But he is the person she lives with, and roommates have some rights. She’s technically underage and he’s her cousin, between the two it gets awkward when his senses overwork and he experiences her group sex secondhand.

They trade looks for a minute to see who will crack first. Malia’s about to suggest showering at their own houses and then sneaking back out to crash Stiles’ guest room, since the Sheriff is the only parent who knows and comes close to not caring, when Kira folds.

“If we go to mine we need to be very quiet. Like trapping a wendigo quiet.”

Allison simultaneously laughs and leers. It might be fucked up to think about, but the weight of the wet blood has made Kira’s shirt stick to her curves, so there’s a fair bit for Allison to leer at, as far as Malia’s concerned. “We’re not the ones who dirty talk.”

Kira returns the sultry look. “You’ll just have to figure out a way of keeping my mouth muffled.”

At this point Malia’s had enough talk. Too much small talk with Liam as they waited for the girls to arrive, too many fruitless questions with the redcap leader, and now too many double entendres. Malia tugs Allison to her until their breasts, stomachs, thighs are touching, and gets her first kiss in, Kira loudly commentating beside them. It’s been hours since they left the McCall house so everyone could have dinner with their own families before getting back on protecting the citizens- see Fact Two. That’s hours too long. So what if Allison smells like the spilled blood of a hundred different citizens who’ve been attacked at night? That’s not Allison’s fault. It’s not a fault at all. The suppression of both her girls’ scents is a show of valour. Malia wants to make them come screaming as a reward, and if that means sex in the parking lot, so be it.


End file.
